Deuce

I'm glad she had a good time.

I was standing at the window ledge on the 7th floor, drawing faces in my breath as it condensed on the cold window, when it occurred to me, I repeat myself, a fair bit. I need to read "On Synchronicity", by Jung. Is a disorder necessarily congenital?

Then i walked to the elevator passing Barsky's door. I stopped to read stuff on it. There was an article about tutoring disadvantaged students to help them get into college. It had three pictures with four people in them. 2 were black, one was hispanic, and the other was of ambiguous race. I didnt see anything disadvantageous about those people. I wondered what I considered a disadvantage, and who i might tutor. I said I would tutor children who lost their parents. Perhaps i think that my parents were my greatest advantage. Odd. Or even.

I don't feel sick anymore. But it still scours away in my head. Its so silly. I wish the glass on the window broke when i punched it. And my head hurts.

Sigh. Maybe my nephew will do better. I only have hope left for him.